


The Only One Who Saves Me Is Me

by WritersBlock109



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Spideychelle, ok pls read and give me honest feedback, right anyway i love u guys, wb tries her hand at doing The FanFic, yes i stole the title from OUAT dont judge me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-12-25 21:49:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritersBlock109/pseuds/WritersBlock109
Summary: Harlem-born Michelle Jones was not a damsel in distress. She didn’t need rescuing by some beefy jerk with a complex. So when she was hit on casually at a bar by a frat boy, she didn’t need a dashing stranger to save her from his clutches. She would do just fine on her own, thanks.





	1. Chapter One: The Biggest Disappointment You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @suplosers on tumblr for beta-ing! Thanks to @fanficy-prompts on tumblr for blocking my writersblock (pun intended)! Also, shout out to the Spideychelle Trash Babies for the moral support. This chapter was inspired by Breathe from the In The Heights soundtrack. This is my first go at spideychelle fanfic, so send a message with your actual opinion. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.

Michelle Jones liked NYU. Greenwich Village was very different than where she grew up in Harlem, but it was nice to only be a walk and a train ride from her parents. 

It was the night of her 21st birthday, and she was alone. She preferred it this way, of course. She had spent the afternoon with her family in their shoddy apartment in Harlem, while they presented her with gifts they couldn’t afford by any means. They would probably be eating ramen for the remainder of the week. Her parents were in debt enough with her tuition, even with financial aid, and Michelle had told them time and time again that their gift to her need only be love this year, since the tuition was taking its toll. They lived even worse than they had when Michelle lived with them. When Michelle hugged her father goodbye, she felt the thinness of his arms for the first time. 

Michelle was in tears as she walked down the familiar streets of her hometown. The guilt wore into her shoes, and for the umpteenth time, she considered dropping out. She walked by old Mrs. Zhade’s restaurant, where the woman who she’d known since age 3 was turning off the “Open” sign in her window came out to greet her. 

“Michelle, my lily! Are you still earning the good grades at the University?” the woman asked in her distinctly Jamaican lilt, wrapping Michelle in a hug. 

“Yes, Mrs. Zhade, it’s lovely to see you.” Michelle said, not having the heart to tell her that working dead end jobs to pay for her own tuition was causing her grades to plummet. 

“Keep in good health, you hear? No good grades without no nourishment,” the old woman pinched her tummy with a hearty chuckle. “Stay here, waterlily. I bring you some rice.” Before Michelle could stop her, the wild woman disappeared inside, returning a few minutes later with a bag that smelled deliciously like home. “Rice and chicken. Take care of your parents, ok? Goodnight, waterlily.” Mrs. Zhade disappeared into the restaurant with a kiss to Michelle’s cheek. 

Michelle stared at the bag in her hand. Thank you! it said, a big yellow smiley face smiling out from just below the message. She tasted something salty in her mouth, and it was only then that she noticed the tears silently flowing down her cheeks. Her parents would want her to keep the food, to feed herself, to prosper even if they could not. Instead, she turned around and walked back in the darkness to the apartment, letting herself in as quietly as she could, as she knew they would be asleep. She left the food in the fridge, and slipped her last twenty into her mother’s handmade wallet, leaving only five for herself. She kissed her sleeping parents and scratched her cat behind the ears, just like he liked it, and set out again. 

The ride back to Lower Manhattan was in silence. She had her cheap earbuds in her ears, but didn’t have the heart to play anything. Instead, she silently eavesdropped on the passengers of the late night 3 train, which consisted of one tired cellist, a young woman with mascara running in tear stains down her face, an overweight man in a newsboy hat and what she assumed was his daughter, and one tall guy with intense BO. No one made any conversation, but her vantage point from the corner made them perfect subjects during her lengthy trip. 

Michelle dug out her frayed journal from her coat pocket. There was a pen attached to the cover, as there always was, and she drew. Though her major was technically photography, she had been drawing since she was a little girl. Cameras were expensive, and capturing life was easiest when she made quick sketches. 

She drew a profile of the crying woman, focusing very closely on the one black teardrop that rested on her thin, sharp jawbone, precariously threatening to fall onto her white dress. After the woman exited, she titled it Distress 11. She liked drawing people in distress. There was no way to see who someone really was than seeing them in distress. 

She got out a stop before the one nearest to her dorm, wanting to walk a bit. The streets still weren’t deserted. Manhattan never was. The air was in conflict, smelling both of sewer and of the closing shawarma truck on the corner. 

Twenty one years she’d lived in New York City. Twenty one years she’d walked these streets in her worn out sneakers. Twenty one years, and she still wasn’t good enough.


	2. Don't Save Her, She Don't Wanna Be Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @xxx-the-red-room-xxx on tumblr for beta-ing this chapter! Also, thanks to @fanficy-prompts on tumblr for blocking my writersblock (pun intended)! Spideychelle Trash Babies, i love you hot nerds. This chapter was inspired by the chorus from J Cole's No Role Modelz. Enjoy and leave feedback! Also, here's a link to the spotify playlist created by me just for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/user/coralucialopez/playlist/0KEgnARgNvFNRsBSatZr7B

The cold winter air singed Michelle's nose as she walked the familiar blocks to her dorm. She wrapped arms around herself defensively, protecting herself from the cold and warding off the wolves who prowled the streets at this hour of the night. 

She pulled her coat closer to herself. While she loved the familiar cold of New York, it was always hard surviving winter. Every year, their broken radiator made the apartment smell like it was on fire, and she had been wearing the same coat since freshman year of high school. Every year, they paid the same man to do a shoddy repair of their radiator, and every year it broke. But it couldn’t be helped. And every year, she outgrew her jacket a little more. But it too, couldn’t be helped. 

Michelle heard a hearty guffaw to her left as a man exited a nightclub, arms thrown around two different women who looked remarkably alike. She knew the place well, and had even had some pleasant times there, if you consider having a near death experience with her friend Jose Cuervo as pleasant.

Michelle paused where she was walking and resolved to go inside. She knew she had nothing in her pockets that she could spend tonight, but she reckoned she could get drinks off desperate frat boys who had their daddy's credit card and nothing but time on their hands.

The club was chic, and she was underdressed. The other girls were dressed to the nines, full makeup and miniskirts that hardly went past their asses. She'd been one of those girls before, on a weekend when her roommate had taken pity on her. Michelle made a beeline for the bar, taking off her ratty coat to reveal a cute-ish blouse and skinny jeans that were naturally distressed. She let her hair down and tousled it a bit, and sighed. 

"Natural beauty never ceases to amaze me," said a voice from directly behind her, speaking a bit loudly to be heard over the noise of the club. 

She turned to see the voice belonged to a scrawny but fashionable white guy. She knew his type. In fact, she was already starting to narrate his story in her mind: daddy was a corrupt rich white man, and beloved son never had to work a day in his life or been denied anything. Predictable. Nevertheless, she played along. A free drink was a free drink after all. 

"Can I buy you a drink?" the guy said, flashing her with a smile. 

"Rum and coke, light on the coke," Michelle said, returning his smile all too fake-eagerly. 

"My kind of girl! I knew we had a connection." He nodded at the bartender, who produced the drink quickly, shortening the awkward silence. 

"And who do I have the pleasure of thanking tonight?" MJ asked, sipping her drink. 

"Harry Os-"

"Just kidding, I don't care, bye," Michelle chuckled, picking up her drink and coat to move to the back of the bar. She was surprised the guy didn't pursue her, but she was glad he didn't. She downed the drink in one fell swoop, knowing if she put it down it might be roofied. She pushed up her breasts, and made for the dance floor. 

The dance floor was nefarious and shadowy, a mass of sweaty bodies moving and grinding and gyrating all over each other with nothing less than insidious intent. The thing was, Michelle didn't care. She entered the dance floor alone, and soon found herself grinding on a some guy. At least, he felt like a guy. He was sort of stiff, but he put his hands on her waist and at that point, it didn't matter what he looked like. He was only a body to her. 

"Hands off my lady, buddy," said a voice, shoving her off of him. She didn't like the usage of "my lady", but continued to dance. Everything was fine until her face was grabbed into a big, sloppy kiss, and a hand made its way to her ass and gave it a squeeze. 

It happened so fast. She pushed her attacker off of her, and a fist flew by her face, knocking him to the floor. The throng dispersed, giving them a wide berth. She quickly recognized the guy on the ground as the guy who flirted with her earlier, but she didn't recognize the guy who was shaking his hand out, sore from the punch. 

The puncher, the punchee, and Michelle were all thrown out by security within seconds, before she had time to get her coat. 

"But my coat-" she started, wrapping two arms around herself to defend herself from the icy weather. 

"Too bad," the security guard said, shutting the door behind him. 

Michelle heard a lighter flick and turned to see her attacker lighting a cigarette. 

"Well that was a lot of trouble for a little kiss." he said nonchalantly. 

"You groped my ass, you vile motherfucker." Michelle was having none of his bullshit, not tonight. The kid behind her began to speak, but she cut him off, too. 

"And you!" she continued, turning to him. "You with your fucking ludricous hero complex! I swear to God, men only think with their dicks. I don't need saving, not by or from two rat looking misogynists like you." 

She flipped both of them off, and began to walk to her dorm. "And you owe me a jacket!" she called over her shoulder. 

Michelle didn’t stop until she was all the way up the stairs on her dorm room floor. She was out of breath, but it wasn’t because of the stairs. It was because she was sobbing. 

She marched straight past her roommate and wrapped herself in her mass of blankets, clothes still on, and cried herself to sleep.


End file.
